Back at the party, Vinny was buzzing. He’d felt slaughtered earlier, had been unsteady on his feet like his dad was after a few too many. That was until Macca had dragged him into his aunt’s study and made him snort some white powder. When Vinny had asked what it was, Macca had told him it was ‘Aunt Marnie’s special party medicine’. It had most certainly worked, much better than the Epsom Salts that his mother gave him when he felt rough.

The women at the party were all friendly, but Vinny didn’t find any attractive, not in a sexual way. They all looked really old to him. The more they drank, the louder they got and Vinny was surprised by how coarse some were. They might speak posh and be stinking rich, but some of the things they came out with, even the commonest women down The Waste wouldn’t say.

‘Excuse me, ladies. I need to borrow this gentleman for a minute. I promise I’ll bring him back to you though,’ winked Macca.

‘Oh please do,’ shrieked the older of the two, pinching Vinny’s bum as Macca led him away.

‘What’s up?’ Vinny asked.

‘Just helping you out. Brain damage, those two. They don’t tip well either. Don’t waste your time with ’em. How you feeling now?’

‘Brilliant. That medicine was proper.’

‘Good. Now I want you to do me a favour. Aunt Marnie wasn’t happy with you earlier. You were staggering all over the place, Vin, and she hates all that. But you can definitely redeem yourself. Lady Rose, that posh blonde you were chatting to earlier, wants to have some time with you in one of the bedrooms. She’s a good tipper. You OK with that?’

Vinny gulped, then feeling he had little choice, nodded fearfully.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Queenie lay awake all night. Vinny hadn’t come home and she was beside herself. The thought of what might have happened to her firstborn filled her with dread, so much so, she’d been sick twice and had a bad case of the trots.

Albie had come home in the early hours, pissed as a newt. She could barely make sense of what he was saying, but had got the gist. Micky One Ear was dead and Albie was blaming himself.

Brenda was still asleep, so Queenie tiptoed out the room and down the stairs. Albie was the only one who could now tell her where Marnie’s nephew lived and that would be her first port of call. She’d even decided if Vinny wasn’t home by late afternoon, she would ring the police station; if Freddie wasn’t on duty, she would leave a message for him to pop round urgently. She would hate Freddie knowing Vinny had got himself mixed up with perverts, mind. She would hate anybody knowing. It was shameful.

Albie was snoring like a pig on the sofa. Queenie podded him. ‘Wake up,’ she hissed. Albie didn’t even flinch, so Queenie filled a glass with water and slung it all over his head.